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The Child of Urbino 

IRapbael 

Bp Xoiiise t>e la IRame 



A THIRD READER 

Edited by SARA D. JENKINS, Ithaca, N. : Y. ; 

Educational publishing Company 

Boston IRew Uorfc Chicago San randaco 



I THE LIBRARY OF 

CONGRESS, 

T 'vo Copies Received 

IUN. 6 1902 

Copyright entry 

OLfrSS -^XXC- No. 

3 ( o x 

COPY B. * 



Copyrighted 

By EDUCATIONAL PUBLISHING COMPANY 
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RAPHAEL 






THE CHILD OF URBINO. 


If you had lived in Urbino, Italy, in 1492, 
you might have played with a little boy 
named Raphael. In 1492, Columbus discov- 
ered America, and in that year, Raphael was 
nine years of age. 

He was a pretty boy whose great hazel eyes 
looked out from under the golden hair cut 
straight across his brows. On this golden hair 
he wore a little round flat cap of sky blue. His 
little tunic was of the same lovely color, and 
the embroidered ruffles at his neck were snow 
white. He was a very happy boy. His family 
had come to home-like, kindly Urbino for safety 
and peace after war had ruined their home in 
the country. Raphael had the dearest, fondest, 


6 


THE CHILD OF URBINO 


grandfather in all the world, a loving mother, 
and a very kind father, Giovanni Sanzio, an 
artist. 

The little child was often painted among the 
angels in the pictures made by his father. 
Every hour of his life was spent among artists. 
His dearest friends were his paints and brushes. 
He lived in a home of art lovers, and breathed 
a love of beauty at every breath. The men 
and women about him loved art as they loved 
life. 

It wd,% good to live in old Urbino in those 
days. Then the poor man was friend to his 
prince and ruler. The peasant could go up to 
the palace, or stop the duke in the market place 
and be sure of a kind answer, and good advice. 
A true love of beautiful things, a sense of public 
duty, a loyal heart, and a wise content among 
the people made them thrifty and happy. 































no OWl IN WHICH RAPHAEL WAS BORN, URBINO 






THE CHILD OF URBINO. 


9 


All work was well done ; living was cheap ; 
food good and plentiful, much better and more 
plentiful, than it is now. In the fine old houses 
every stone was sound, every bit of ornament 
well wrought. Men made their houses to live 
in and to pass to their children and children’s 
children after them. Their own fancies and 
their own traditions were recorded in the iron- 
work of their casements and in the wood-work 
of their doors. They had their happy day of 
honest toil from morning bell to evening 
song. They walked out, or sat about in the 
calm evening air and looked down on the 
plains rich with grain, and fruit, and woodland. 
They talked and laughed and were content in 
their own pleasant, useful lives, having no 
desire to be some one else. 

Life must have been very good in those old 
days in old Urbino. Can you not picture to 


10 


THE CHILD OF URBINO. 


yourself good, wise Giovanni Sanzio, with his 
old father by his side, and his little son running 
before him, in the holy evening time of a feast- 
day, the deep church-bells swaying overhead, 
and the last sun-rays falling on the castle walls, 
the steep city rocks shelving down into the 
greenery of cherry-orchard and of pear-tree? I 
can ; and whenever I shut my eyes and recall 
Urbino as it was, I wish it had been mine to 
live then in that mountain-home, and to meet 
that sweet, smiling child going along his happy 
way, gathering unconsciously in his infant soul 
all the beautiful sights and sounds around him, 
to give them in his manhood to the world. 

“ Let him alone; he will paint all this some 
day,” said his wise father, who loved to think 
that his brushes and his colors would pass in 
time to Raphael, whose hands would be 
stronger to hold them than his own had been. 


THE CHILD OF URBINO. 


11 


Whether he would ever paint it or not, the 
child never tired of looking on the rocks, and 
on all that passed below, under the growing 
corn and under the leafy orchard boughs. 

There were so many things to be seen in 
Urbino in that time by one who looked over 
the vast green valley below ! Perhaps it was a 
clump of spears, as men-at-arms rode through 
the trees ; a string of market-folk bringing in 
the produce of the orchard or of the fields ; a 
red-robed cardinal on a white mule, behind him 
a train rich with baggage, furniture, gold and 
silver plate; maybe the Duke’s hunting-party 
going out or coming homeward with beautiful 
steeds and hounds, and hunting-horns sounding 
merrily over the green country; maybe a band 
of free lances, with plumes tossing, steel glanc- 
ing, bannerets fluttering against the sky; or 
maybe a quiet, gray-robed string of monks or 


12 


THE CHILD OF URBINO. 


pilgrims singing the hymn sung before Jeru- 
salem, and treading the long grass with san- 
dalled feet, coming towards the city, to crowd 
slowly and gladly up its rocky height. Do you 
not wish with me you could have stood in the 
window with Raphael to see the earth as it 
was then ? 

No doubt the good folks of Urbino laughed 
and called him a little dreamer, so many hours 
did he stand looking, looking — only looking 
— as eyes have a right to do that see well. 
Happily for him his days of childhood were 
times of peace. 

At this time Urbino was growing into fame 
for its work in pottery. The big dishes and 
bowls, the marriage-plates and jars which it 
made were beginning to rival the products of 
the neighboring towns and when the Duke 
wished to send a bridal gift, or a present on 


THE CHILD OF URBTNO. 


13 


some festal occasion, he often chose a service 
or some rare platter of Urbino ware. Pottery 
had not then taken the high place among the 
arts of Italy that it was to take very soon. 
As you will learn when you are older, after 
the Greeks and the Christians had exhausted 
all that was beautiful in shape and substance 
of clay vases, the art seemed to die. The pot- 
ters and the pottery-painters died with it, or 
went to sleep for a great many centuries. 
Now, during the reign of the good Duke, great 
Federigo, the potters and pottery-painters, with 
other gentle craftsmen, had begun to look up 
again, and the fires of their humble ovens had 
begun to burn in many towns and in Urbino 
itself. Jars and bowls and platters, oval dishes 
and ewers and basins, and big-bodied vases 
were being made and painted at Urbino while 
Raphael was running about on rosy baby feet. 


14 


THE CHILD OF URBINO. 


There was a master-potter at that time, one 
Benedetto, whose name had not become world- 
renowned yet, who in that day enjoyed the 
honor of all the duchy, and did things very 
rare and fine in the Urbino ware. He was a 
gray-haired, handsome, somewhat stern and 
pompous man, now more than middle-aged, 
who had one beauteous daughter, by name 
Pacifica. Benedetto and Pacifica lived very 
near the home of Raphael. He cherished 
Pacifica well, but not so well as he cher- 
ished the things he wrought — the deep, round 
plates and oval dishes that he painted with 
Scriptural stories and strange devices, and 
landscapes such as those he saw around 
him. Sometimes his wares came ruined 
from the oven in which they had to be 
baked ; and sometimes they were lovely with 
those lustrous and opaline hues which we 

















































®N UffU&ii V:,i 

, A£&(M<NK«>A. 

^-♦itarefeSg^g 


HOUSE IN WHICH RAPHAEL WAS BORN, URBINO 


THE CHILD OF URBINO. 


17 


admire to this day as the especial glory of 
majolica. 

Benedetto was an ambitious and vain man. 
He had had a hard, laborious manhood, work- 
ing at his potter’s wheel and painter’s brush 
before Urbino ware was prized in Italy. Now, 
indeed, he was esteemed at his due worth, and 
his work was valued also. He was passably 
rich, and known as a good artist far beyond 
Urbino; but there was a younger man over at 
Gubbio, who surpassed him, and made him 
sleep less, as envy makes all those who take 
envy as a bedfellow. 

The house of Benedetto was a long stone 
building, with a loggia at the back, overrun 
with hardy rose-trees. It looked on a garden 
that was more than half orchard, in which 
grew abundantly pear-trees, plum-trees, and 
wild strawberries. The windows of his work- 


18 


THE CHILD OF URBINO. 


shop looked on all this quiet greenery. There 
were many such pleasant workshops then in 
the land — calm, godly, homelike places, filled 
from without with song of birds and scent of 
herbs and blossoms. Nowadays men work in 
crowded cities, in close factory chambers ; and 
their work is as barren as their lives. 

The little Raphael ran in and out of this 
big, wide house and garden of Benedetto at 
his pleasure, for Pacifica was always glad to 
see him, and even the sombre master-potter 
often taught him how to lay the color on the 
tremulous unbaked pottery. 

Pacifica was a lovely young woman of 
eighteen years ; and perhaps Raphael was 
but remembering her when in manhood he 
painted the face of his Madonna di San 
Sisto . He loved her as he loved everything 
that was beautiful, and every one who was 


THE CHILD OF URBINO. 


19 


kind. Almost better than his own beloved 
father’s studio, almost better than his dear 
old grandsire’s cheerful little shop, did he 
love this grave, silent, sweet-smelling, sun- 
pierced, shadowy old house, the home of 
Pacifica. 

Benedetto had four apprentices or pupils at 
that time learning the art, but the one whom 
Raphael liked the most (and whom Pacifica 
liked, too) was Luca Torelli. He was a youth 
of a noble, dark, pensive beauty, a fearless 
gait, a supple, tall, slender figure that would 
have looked well in the light coat of mail and 
silken doublet of a man-at-arms. The spirit of 
Luca was more indeed for war and its risks 
and glories than for the wheel and the brush of 
the potter; but he had loved Pacifica ever 
since he had come down one careless holy-day 
into Urbino, and had bound himself to her 


20 


THE CHILD OF URBINO. 


father’s service in a heedless moment of eager- 
ness to breathe the same air and to dwell under 
the same roof. 

He had, however, gained little for his pains. 
To see her at mass and at rneal-times, now and 
then to be allowed to bring water from the 
well for her, or to feed her pigeons, to see her 
gray gown go down between the orchard trees 
and catch the sunlight, to hear the hum of her 
spinning-wheel, the thrum of her viol — this 
was all he got of joy in two long years. How 
he envied Raphael running along the stone 
floor of the loggia, to leap into her arms, to 
hang upon her skirts, picking the summer fruit 
with her, and sorting with her the autumn 
herbs for drying ! 

“ I love Pacifica!” he would say, with a groan, 
to Raphael ; and Raphael would say, with a 
smile, “ Ah, Luca, so do 1 1” 


THE CHILD OF URBINO. 


21 


“ It is not the same thing, my dear,” sighed 
Luca ; “I want her for my wife.” 

“ I shall have no wife ; I shall marry myself 
to painting,” said Raphael, with a little grave 
wise face looking out from under the golden 
roof of his fair hair. He never tired of watch- 
ing his father painting the saints with their 
branch of palm on their ground of blue or of 
gold, or of Benedetto making the dull clay 
glow with angels’ wings, and prophets’ robes, 
and holy legends told in color. 

One day Raphael was standing at his favor- 
ite window in the potter’s house. His friend, 
the handsome black-browed Luca, who was also 
standing there, sighed so deeply and so sadly 
that the child was startled from his dreams. 

“ Good Luca, what ails you?” he murmured, 
winding his arms about the young man’s 
knees. 


22 


THE CHILD OF URBINO. 


“ Oh, ’Faello ! ” mourned the apprentice, woe- 
fully. “ Here is such a chance to win the hand 
of Pacifica if only I had talent. If the good 
Lord had only gifted me with a masters skill, 
instead of all this bodily strength and sinew, 
like a wild hog of the woods, which avails me 
nothing here ! ” 

“What chance is it?” asked Raphael, “and 
what is there new about Pacifica? She told 
me nothing, and I was with her an hour.” 

“ Dear, simple one, she knows nothing of it,” 
said Luca, heaving another sigh from his heart’s 
depths. “ A new order has come in this very 
forenoon, from the Duke; he wishes a dish and 
a jar of the very finest and firmest majolica to 
be painted with the story of Queen Esther, and 
made ready in three months from this date, to 
go as his gifts to his cousin. He has ordered 
that no cost be spared in the work, but that the 





madonna m san sisto Raphael 



THE CHILD OF URBINO. 


25 


painting thereof be the best that can be pro- 
duced, and the prize he will give is fifty scudi. 
Now, Benedetto, having known some time, it 
seems, of this order, has had made in readiness 
several large oval dishes and beautiful big jars. 
He will give one to each of his pupils — to 
myself, to Berengario, to Tito, and to Zenone. 
The master is sorely vexed that his eyesight 
will not permit him to execute himself the 
Duke’s commands. It is no secret that the for- 
tunate winner cf the Duke’s approbation shall 
become partner here, and shall have the hand 
of Pacifica. Some say that Benedetto has only 
put forth this promise as a stimulus to get the 
best work done ; but I know the master too 
well to deem him guilty of any such trick. 
What he has said he will carry out ; if the vase 
and the dish win the Duke’s praise, they will 
also win Pacifica. Now you see, dear ’Faello, 


26 


THE CHILD OF URBINO. 


why I am so sad of heart. I am a good crafts- 
man enough at the wheel and the furnace, and 
I like the handling and moulding of the clay, 
but at painting clay I am not skilful, and 
Berengario or even the little Zenone will beat 
me ; of that I am sure.” 

Raphael heard all this in silence, leaning 
his elbows on his friend’s knee, and his chin 
on the palms of his own hands. He knew that 
the other pupils were better painters by far 
than his Luca, though not one of them was so 
good-hearted or noble-looking, and for none of 
them did the maiden Pacifica care. 

“ How long a time is given for the jar and 
the dish to be ready ? ” he asked, at length. 

“ Three months,” said Luca, with a sigh 
sadder than ever. “ But if it were three years, 
what difference would it make? You cannot 
cudgel art into a man with blows as you 


THE CHILD OF URBINO. 


27 


cudgel speed into a mule, and I shall be a dolt 
at the end of the time, as I am now. What 
said your good father to me but yesternight? 
— and he is good to me and does not despise 
me. He said, ‘ Luca, my son, it is of no more 
avail for you to sigh for Pacifica than to sigh 
for the moon. Were she mine I would give 
her to you, for you have a heart of gold, but 
Signor Benedetto will not; for never, I fear 
me, will you be able to decorate anything 
more than an apothecary’s mortar or a bar- 
ber’s basin. If I hurt you, take it not ill ; I 
mean kindness, and were I a stalwart youth 
like you I would try my fortunes in Prance 
or in Spain, or down in Rome, for you are 
made for a soldier.’ That was the best even 
your father could say for me, ’ Faello.” 

“But Pacifica,” said the child — “Pacifica 
would not wish you to join the army ! ” 


28 


THE CHILD OF URBINO. 


“ God knows,” said Luca, hopelessly. “ Per- 
haps she would not care.” 

“ I am sure she would,” said Raphael, “ for 
she does love you, Luca, though she cannot 
say so, being but a girl, and Signor Benedetto 
against you. That redcap you tamed for her, 
how she loves it ! how she caresses it! and half 
is for you, Luca, half for the bird! ” 

Luca kissed him, but the tears rolled down 
the poor youth’s face, for he was much in 
earnest and filled with despair. 

“ Even if she did, if she do,” he murmured, 
hopelessly, “ she never will let me know it, 
since her father forbids a thought of me; and 
now here is this trial of skill at the Duke’s 
order come to make things worse. If that 
swaggering Berengario win, then truly will I 
join the army and pray heaven send me swift 
death and a shroud.” 


THE CHILD OF URBINO. 


29 


Raphael was very pensive for a while ; then 
he raised his head and said : 

“ I have thought of something, Luca. But 
I do not know whether you will let me try 
it.” 

“You angel child ! What would Luca deny 
to you ? But as for helping me, my dear, put 
that thought out of your little mind forever, 
for no one can help me, ’Faello, not the saints 
themselves, since I was born a dolt ! ” 

Raphael kissed him, and said, “ Now listen !” 
And the child whispered something in the ear 
of Luca which we must not yet know. The 
story will tell it. 

A few days later Signor Benedetto informed 
his pupils of the Duke’s command and of his 
own intentions ; he did not pronounce his 
daughter’s name to the youths, but he spoke 
in terms that were clear enough to tell them 


30 


THE CHILD OF URBINO. 


that whoever had the good fortune and high 
merit to gain the Duke’s choice should have 
the honor of becoming the associate of Bene- 
detto in the famous business. 

Now, it had been known in Urbino ever 
since Pacifica had gone to her first communion 
that whoever pleased her father well enough 
to become his partner must also please the 
maiden as her husband. Not much attention 
was given to girls’ wishes in those times, and 
no one thought the master-potter either unjust 
or cruel in thus suiting himself before he 
suited his daughter. What made the hearts 
of all the young men quake and sink the 
lowest was the fact that Signor Benedetto 
made the offer not only to his own apprentices, 
but to any native of the duchy of Urbino. 
Who could tell what hero might step forth 
and gain the great prize of this fair hand of 



;PS 



RAPHAEL DRAWING THE MADONNA OF THE CHAIR 


Wittmtr 



THE CHILD OF URBINO. 


33 


Pacifica’s ? With her hand would go many a 
broad gold ducat, and heritage of the wide old 
gray stone house, and many an old jewel and 
old brocade that were kept there in dusky 
sweet-smelling cabinets. More than one good 
piece of land, smiling with corn and fruit-trees, 
outside the gates to the westward would be 
given also. 

Luca, indeed, never thought of these things, 
but the other pupils did, and other youths as 
well. Had it not been for the limitation as to 
birth within the duchy, many a gallant young 
painter from the other side of the Apennines, 
many from the workshops of fair Florence her- 
self, or from the Lombard cities, might have 
traveled there in hot haste as fast as horses 
could carry them, to paint the clay for the sake 
of so precious a reward. Urbino men they had 
to be however, and poor Luca, who was so full 


34 


THE CHILD OF URBINO. 


of despair that he could almost have thrown 
himself headlong from the rocks, was thankful 
that the number of his rivals was even thus 
limited. 

“ Had I been you,” Giovanni Sanzio ven- 
tured once to say respectfully to Signor 
Benedetto, “ I think I should have picked out 
for my son-in-law the best youth that I knew, 
not the best painter; for, my friend, the great- 
est artist is not always the truest man, and 
by the hearth-stone humble virtue should 
have high claim.” 

Benedetto set his stern face like a flint, 
knowing very well what youth Giovanni would 
have liked to have named to him. 

“ I have need of a good artist to keep up 
my fame,” he said, stiffly. “ My eyesight is 
not what it was, and I should be loath to 
see Urbino ware fall back, while wares from 


THE CHILD OF URBINO. 


35 


other cities gain ground every day. Pacifica 
must pay for being the daughter of a great 
artist.” 

Mirthful, keen-witted Sanzio smiled to him- 
self, and went his way in silence; for he did 
not bow down before the vain old master 
potter. 

“ Poor Pacifica !” he thought, “ if only my 
’Faello were but ten years older!” 

He, who could not forsee the future, the 
splendid, wondrous, unequalled future that 
awaited his young son, wished nothing better 
for him than a peaceful painter’s life here in 
old Urbino, under the friendly shadow of the 
palace-walls. 

Meanwhile, where think you was Raphael ? 
Half the day, or all the day, and every day, 
whenever he could ? Where think you he was? 
In the attic of Luca, before a bowl and a dish 


36 


THE CHILD OF URBINO. 


almost as big as himself. The attic was a 
breezy, naked place, underneath the arches sup- 
porting the roof of Benedetto’s dwelling. Each 
pupil had one of these garrets to himself — a 
rare boon, for which Luca came to be very 
thankful, for without it he could not have 
sheltered his angel ; for the secret that Raphael 
had whispered to him that day was, “ Let me 
try to paint it.” 

For a long time Luca had been afraid to 
consent, he had only kept from laughter at the 
idea because of love and reverence for the little 
speaker. Baby Raphael, who was only just 
nine years old as the April tulips reddened, 
painting a majolica dish and vase to go to 
Mantua! The good fellow could scarcely 
restrain his laughter at the fancy; and nothing 
had kept him grave but the sight of that seri- 
ous face of Raphael, looking up with serene, 


THE CHILD OF URBINO. 


37 


sublime self-confidence, nay, perhaps, rather, 
confidence in heaven and in heaven’s gifts. 

“ Let me try !” said the child a hundred 
times. He would tell no one, only Luca should 
know ; and if he failed — well, there would only 
be the spoiled pottery to pay for, and had he 
not two whole ducats? The Duke had given 
them to him when the court had come to see 
his fathers designs for the altar-frescoes. 

So utterly in earnest was he, and so intense 
and blank was Luca’s despair, that the young 
man had promised to let the child try. “ Never 
can I do aught,” he thought, bitterly, looking 
at his own clumsy designs. “ And sometimes 
by the help of cherubs the saints work 
miracles.” 

“ It will be no miracle,” said Raphael, hear- 
ing him murmur this : “ it will be myself, and 
that which the dear God has put into me.” 


38 


THE CHILD OF URBINO. 


From that hour, Luca let him do what he 
would, and through all the lovely early sum- 
mer days the child came and shut himself up 
in the garret, and studied, and thought, and 
worked, and knitted his pretty fair brows, and 
smiled in satisfaction, according to the mood he 
was in and the progress of his labors. 

Giovanni Sanzio went away at that time to 
paint an altar-piece, and his little son for once 
was glad of the absence. His father would 
surely have remarked the long visits of Ra- 
phael to the attic, and would, in all likelihood, 
have obliged him to pore over his Latin or to 
take exercise in the open fields; but his mother 
said nothing, content that he should be amused 
and safe, and knowing well that Pacifica loved 
him and would let him come to no harm under 
her roof. Pacifica herself wondered that he 
deserted her for the garret. But one day 


THE CHILD OF URBINO 


39 


when she questioned him, the sweet-faced rogue 
clung to her and murmured, “Oh, Pacifica, I 
do want Luca to win you, because he loves 
you so ; and I do love you both ! ” She 
answered him, “ Ah, dear, if he could ! ” and 
then said never a word more, but went to her 
distaff ; Raphael saw great tears fall from 
her lashes to the flax. 

She thought the child went to the attic to 
watch how Luca painted, and loved him more 
than ever for that, but knew in the hopeless- 
ness of her hearts — as Luca also knew it in 
his — that the good and gallant youth would 
never be able to create anything that would go 
as the Duke’s gifts to the Gonzaga of Mantua. 
She did love Luca ! She had spoken to him 
but rarely, yet passing in and out of the same 
doors, and going to the same church offices, 
and dwelling always beneath the same roof, he 


40 


THE CHILD OF URBINO. 


had found means for a word, for a flower, for 
a glance. He was so handsome, so brave, and 
so gentle, that poor Pacifica cared not in the 
least whether he could paint or not. He could 
make her happy. 

In the attic Raphael passed the most anx- 
ious hours of all his sunny little life. He 
would not allow Luca to look at what he did. 
He barred the door and worked ; when he went 
away he locked his work in a wardrobe. The 
swallows came in and out of the unglazed win- 
dow, and fluttered all around him ; the morn- 
ing sunbeams came in too, and made a halo 
round his golden head, like that which his 
father gilded above the heads of saints. Ra- 
phael worked on, not looking up, though clang 
of trumpet, or of cymbal, often told him there 
was much going on worth seeing down below. 
He was only nine years of age, but he labored 








\ 




i 



















. .* 






.♦ 



r x 


> 























* 









RAPHAEL IN HIS STUDIO 








THE CHILD OF URBINO. 


43 


as earnestly as if he were man grown, his 
little rosy fingers gripping that pencil which 
was to make him in life and in death famous 
as kings are not famous, and let his tender 
body lie in its last sleep in the Pantheon of 
Rome. 

He had covered hundreds of sheets with 
designs before he succeeded in getting the 
ideas that haunted him. When he had pleased 
himself at last, he set to work to transfer his 
drawings to the clay in color in the enamel 
that marks Urbino majolica. 

Ah, how glad he was now that his father 
had let him draw from the time he was two 
years of age, and that Benedetto had shown 
him something of the mysteries of painting on 
clay and producing the lustre which was the 
glory of the pottery of the duchy ! 

How glad he was, and how his little heart 


44 


THE CHILD OF URBINO. 


bounded and seemed to sing in this his first 
enjoyment of the joyous liberty and power of 
creative work ! 

A well-known writer has said that genius is 
the power of taking pains ; he should have said 
rather that genius has this power, but that 
first and foremost it possesses the power of 
exquisite production without effort and with 
delight. 

Luca looked at him, not at his work, for 
Raphael had made him promise not to do so, 
and began to marvel at the child’s intentness, 
the evident ease with which he worked. The 
little figure, leaning over the great dish on the 
bare board of the table, with the oval opening 
of the window and the blue sky beyond it, 
began to grow sacred with more than the 
sanctity of childhood. Raphael’s face grew 
very serious, too, and lost its color. His 


THE CHILD OF URBINO. 


45 


hazel eyes looked very big, and grave and 
dark. 

“ Perhaps his father will be angry with me 
if ever he knows,” thought poor Luca; but it 
was too late now. The child had become 
master. 

So Raphael, unknown to anyone else, 
worked on and on in the attic, while the 
tulips bloomed and withered, and the honey- 
suckle was in flower in the hedges, and the 
wheat and barley were being cut in the quiet 
fields in the sunshine. For midsummer was 
come ; of the three months all but a week had 
passed. It was known that all was ready for 
the Duke’s choice. 

One afternoon Raphael took Luca by the 
hand and said to him, “ Come.” 

He led the young man up to the table, 
beneath the window, where he had passed 


46 


THE CHILD OF URBINO. 


so many of the ninety days of spring and 
summer. 

Luca uttered a great cry, and stood gazing, 
gazing, gazing. Then he fell on his knees 
and embraced the little feet of the child. It 
was the first homage that he, whose life 
became one beautiful song of praise, received 
from man. 

“ Dear Luca,” he said, softly, “ do not do 
that. If it be indeed good, let us thank God.” 

His friend saw the great oval dish and the 
great vase standing with the sunbeams full 
upon them. They shone with lustrous hues 
and wondrous flame-like glories, gleaming like 
melted jewels. There were all manner of 
graceful symbols and classic designs wrought 
upon them. Their borders were garlanded 
with cherubs and flowers, bearing the arms of 
the Duke. The landscapes were the tender 


THE CHILD OF URBINO. 


47 


scenes round about Urbino. The mountains 
had the solemn radiance that the Apennines 
wore at evening-time, and amidst the figures 
there was one white-robed, golden-crowned 
Esther, to whom the child painter had given 
the face of Pacifica. This wondrous creation, 
wrought by a baby’s hand, had safely passed 
the fire of the furnace, and had come forth 
without spot or flaw. 

Luca ceased not from kneeling at the feet 
of Raphael, as ever since has knelt the world. 

“ Oh, wondrous boy ! Oh, angel sent unto 
men ! ” sighed the poor apprentice, as he gazed ; 
and his heart was so full that he burst into 
tears. 

“ Let us thank God,” said little Raphael, 
again ; and he joined his small hands that 
had wrought this miracle, and said his Laus 
Domini . 


48 


THE CHILD OF URBINO. 


When the precious jar and the great platter 
were removed to the wardrobe and shut up in 
safety behind the steel wards of the locker, 
Luca said, timidly, feeling twenty years in age 
behind the wisdom of this gifted child, “ But, 
dearest boy, I do not see how your marvellous 
and most exquisite work can help me. Even 
if you would allow it to pass as mine, I could 
not accept such a thing. It would be a fraud, 
a shame. Not even to win Pacifica could I 
consent.” 

“ Be not so hasty, good friend,” said Raphael. 
“ Wait just a little longer yet and see. I have 
my own idea. Do trust in me.” 

“ Heaven speaks in you, that I believe,” said 
Luca, humbly. 

Raphael answered not, but ran down-stairs, 
and passing Pacifica, threw his arms about her 
in more than his usual affectionate caresses. 


THE CHILD OF URBINO. 


49 


“ Pacifica, be of good heart,” he murmured, 
and would not be questioned, but ran home- 
ward to his mother. 

“ Can it be that Luca has done well ? ” thought 
Pacifica; but she feared the child’s wishes had 
outrun his wisdom. He could not be a judge, 
a child of nine years, even though he were the 
son of that good, honest painter and poet, Gio- 
vanni Sanzio. 

The next morning was Midsummer Day. 
Now, the pottery was all to be placed in the 
house of Signor Benedetto ; and the Duke was 
to come and make his choice. The master- 
potter, because he liked to affect a mighty indif- 
ference and to show he had no favoritism, had 
declared that he would not himself see the 
works of art until the eyes of the Duke also 
fell upon them. 

As for Pacifica, she had locked herself 


50 


THE CHILD OF URBINO. 


alone in her chamber. The young men 
were swaggering about, and taunting each 
other, and boasting. Luca sat apart, thrum- 
ming an old lute. Giovanni Sanzio, who had 
ridden home at evening, came in from his own 
house and put his hand on the youth’s shoulder. 

“ Luca, I hear the men have brought fine 
things. Take courage, my lad. Maybe we 
can entreat the Duke to change the mind of 
Pacifica’s father.” 

Luca shook his head wearily. 

There would be one beautiful thing there, 
indeed, he knew ; but what use would that be 
to him ? 

“ The child — the child ” — he stammered, 
and then remembered that he must not tell 
Raphael’s secret. 

“ My child ?” said Signor Giovanni. “Oh, he 
will be here ; he will be sure to be here : where- 


THE CHILD OF URBINO. 


51 


ever there is a painted thing to be seen, there 
always is Raphael/’ 

Then the good man sauntered within to 
speak to Benedetto, who, in a suit of fine 
crimson with doublet of sad-colored velvet, 
was standing ready to advance bare-headed 
into the street as soon as the hoofs of 
the Duke’s charger should strike on the 
stones. 

“ You must be anxious in your thoughts,” 
said Signor Giovanni to him. “ They say a 
youth from Pesaro brings something fine : if 
you should find yourself bound to take a 
stranger into your work-room and your 
home.”- — 

“ If he be a man of genius he will be wel- 
come.” “ Be he of Pesaro, or of Fano, or of 
Castel-Durante, I go not back from my word: 
I keep my word even to my own hindrance.” 


52 


THE CHrLD OF URBINO. 


“ Let us hope it will bring you only joy,” 
said his neighbor, who knew him to be an 
honest man and true, even if over-obstinate 
and vain. 

“ Our Lord the Duke ! ” shouted the people 
standing in the street. Benedetto walked out 
with stately tread to receive the honor of his 
masters visit. 

Raphael slipped noiselessly to his father’s 
side, and tightly held his hand. 

“You are not surely afraid of our good 
Duke! ” said his father with a laugh and some 
surprise, for Raphael was very pale, and his 
lower lip trembled. 

“ No,” said the child, simply. 

The young Duke and his court came riding 
down the street, and paused before the old 
stone house of the master-potter, splendid gen- 
tlemen, though only in their morning dress, 




)UCAL PALACE, URBINO 






THE CHILD OF URBINO. 


55 


the noble Barbary steeds fretting under them, 
and the little pages and liveried servants about 
their steps. Usually, unless he went hunting 
or on a visit to some nobleman, the Duke 
walked about Urbino like any of the citizens ; 
but he knew the pompous and somewhat vain- 
glorious temper of Benedetto, and good-nat- 
uredly was willing to humor its harmless van- 
ities. Bowing to the ground, the master-potter 
led the way, walking backward into his shop. 
The courtiers followed their Duke. Giovanni 
Sanzio with his little son and a few other per- 
sons went in also at due distance. At the 
farther end of the workshop stood the pupils 
and the artists from other places in the duchy 
whose works were there to be judged. In 
all there were ten competitors. Poor Luca, 
who had set his own work on the table with 
the rest, as he was obliged to do, stood, to hide 


L.ofC. 


56 


THE CHILD OF URBINO. 


his misery, behind all, shrinking back into the 
shadow of the deep-bayed window. 

On the narrow benches that served as tables 
on working-days to the pottery-painters were 
ranged the dishes and jars, with a number 
attached to each — no name to any, because 
Benedetto was to prove his honesty in the 
matter of choice : he wished for the best artist. 
The Duke, doffing his plumed cap, walked 
down the long room and examined each plate 
and vase in its turn. On the whole, the col- 
lection made a fine display of majolica, though 
he was perhaps a little disappointed at the 
result in each, for he wanted something uncom- 
mon and absolutely perfect. Still, with fair 
words he complimented Signor Benedetto on 
the show, and only before the work of poor 
Luca was he entirely silent, since indeed 
silence was the greatest kindness he could 


THE CHILD OF URBINO. 


57 


show to it. The drawing was bold and regu- 
lar, but the coloring was hopelessly crude and 
glaring. 

At last, before a vase and a dish that stood 
modestly at the very farthest end of the bench, 
the Duke gave a sudden exclamation of delight, 
and Benedetto grew crimson with pleasure and 
surprise. Raphaels father pressed a little 
nearer and tried to see over the shoulders of 
the gentlemen of the court, feeling sure that 
something rare and beautiful must have called 
forth that cry of wonder from the Grand 
Duke. He saw at a glance that for his poor 
friend Luca there was no hope. 

“ This is beyond all comparison,” said the 
Duke, taking the great oval dish up reverently 
in his hands. “ Benedetto, I am glad that you 
should possess such a pupil. He will be a 
glory to our beloved Urbino.” 


58 


THE CHILD OF URBINO. 


“ It is indeed most excellent work, my Lord 
Duke,” said the master-potter, who was trem- 
bling with surprise and dared not show all the 
astonishment and emotion he felt at the dis- 
covery of so exquisite a creation in his studio. 
“ It must be,” he added, for he was a very 
honest man, “ the work of one of the lads of 
Pesaro. I have no such craftsman in my 
workshop. It is beautiful exceedingly ! ” 

“ It is worth its weight in gold ! ” said the 
Duke. “ Look gentlemen — look ! Will not 
the fame of Urbino be borne beyond the 
Apennines and Alps ? ” 

Then, the court and the citizens came to 
look, and said that truly never in Urbino had 
they seen such painting on majolica. 

“But whose is it?” said the Duke impa- 
tiently, casting his eyes over the gathered 
group of apprentices and artists. “ Benedetto, 


THE CHILD OF URBINO. 


59 


I pray you, the name of the artist ; I pray you, 
quick ! ” 

“ It is marked number eleven, my lord,” 
answered the master-potter. “ Ho, you who 
reply to that number, stand out and give your 
name. My Lord Duke has chosen your work. 
Ho, there ! do you hear me ? ” 

But not one of the group moved. The 
young men looked from one to another. Who 
was this nameless rival ? There were but ten 
of themselves. 

“Ho, there!” repeated Signor Benedetto, 
getting angry. “ Cannot you find a tongue, I 
say ? Who has wrought this work ? Silence 
is but insolence to his Highness and to 
me ! ” 

Then the child Raphael loosened his little 
hand from his fathers, and went forward, and 
stood before the master-potter. 


60 


THE CHILD OF URBINO. 


“ I painted it,” he said, with a pleased smile. 
“ I, Raphael.” 

Can you not fancy, without telling, the con- 
fusion, the wonder, the unbelief, the questions, 
the wild praise, that followed the discovery of 
the child artist? Only the presence of the 
Duke kept it in anything like quiet. Even 
he, all duke though he was, felt his eyes wet 
and his heart swell ; for he himself was child- 
less, and for the joy that Giovanni Sanzio felt 
that day he would have given his crown and 
duchy. 

He took from his own breast a jewel hung 
on a gold chain and threw it over Raphael’s 
shoulders. 

“ There is your first prize,” he said ; “ you 
will have many, oh, wondrous child, and shall 
live when we are dust ! ” 

Raphael, himself quite tranquil and un- 


THE CHILD OF URBINO. 


61 


moved, kissed the Duke’s hand with sweetest 
grace, and then turned to his own father. 

“ Is it true that I have won my Lord Duke’s 
prize ? ” 

“ Quite true, my angel ! ” said Giovanni 
Sanzio, with tremulous voice. 

Raphael looked up at Benedetto. 

“Then I claim the hand of Pacifica!” 

There was a smile on all the faces round, 
even on the darker countenances of the other 
painters. 

“ Oh, would indeed you were of age to be 
my son by marriage, as you are the son 
of my heart!” murmured Signor Benedetto. 
“ Dear and marvellous child, you are but 
jesting, I know. Tell me what it is indeed 
that you would have. I could deny you 
nothing ; and truly it is you who are my 
master.” 


62 


THE CHILD OF URBINO. 


“ I am your pupil,” said Raphael, with that 
pretty serious smile of his, his little fingers 
playing with the ducal jewel. “ I could never 
have painted that majolica yonder had you 
not taught me the secrets and management 
of your colors. Now, dear master mine, and 
you, oh, my Lord Duke, do hear me ! I, by 
the terms of the contest, have won the hand 
of Pacifica. I take these rights, and give 
them over to my dear friend Luca, because 
he is the honestest man in all the world. He 
honors Signor Benedetto and loves Pacifica 
as no other can and Pacifica loves him. My 
Lord Duke, will you not say that thus all will 
be well ? ” 

With the grave, innocent courage of a child 
he spoke — this nine-year-old painter, who was 
greater than any there. 

Benedetto stood mute, sombre, agitated. 


THE CHILD OF URBINO. 


63 


Luca had sprung forward and dropped on one 
knee. He was pale with anxiety. Raphael 
looked at him with a smile. 

“ My Lord Duke,” he said, with his little 
gentle smile, “you have chosen my work; 
defend me in my rights.” 

“ Listen to the voice of an angel, my good 
Benedetto ; heaven speaks by him,” said the 
Duke, gravely, laying his hand on the arm of 
of his master-potter. 

Harsh Signor Benedetto burst into tears. 

“ I can refuse him nothing,” he said, with a 
sob. “ He will give such glory unto Urbino 
as never the world hath seen ! ” 

“ Call down this fair Pacifica whom Ra- 
phael has won,” said the Duke, “and I myself 
will give her as a dower as many gold pieces 
as we can cram into this famous vase. An 
honest youth loves her and she loves him — 


64 


THE CHILD OF URBINO. 


what better can you do, Benedetto? Young 
man, rise up and be happy.” 

But Luca heard not. He was still kneeling 
at the feet of Raphael, where the world has 
knelt ever since. 


VOCABULARY. 

Apennines (ap'e-nlnz) 

Benedetto (ba-na-det'to) 

Berengario (ba-ren-ga re-o] 
Castel-Durante (kas-tel'd6-r£n'te) 
Federigo (fa-da-r<Vgo) 

Fano (fa'no) 

Giovanni Sanzio (jo-van'ue sau'se-o) 
Gonzaga (gon-za'ga) 

Gubbio (gob'be-5) 

Loggia (loj'ja) 

Mantua (man'tu-a) 

Pantheon fpan'the-on) 

Pesaro (pa-sa ro) 

Raphael (ra/fa-el) 

Urbino (or-be'no) 





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